


Tim Goodman used "THERAPY!" It's Super Effective!

by bmouse



Category: POKÉMON Detective Pikachu (2019)
Genre: Comedy, Gen, has been attempted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 21:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18903427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmouse/pseuds/bmouse
Summary: The story has ended... but our protagonists might need a little professional help with sorting out their feelings.





	Tim Goodman used "THERAPY!" It's Super Effective!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trinityofone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinityofone/gifts).



"Hi Tim! This is Doctor Butternut from the Ryme City Family Counseling and Associates Office, returning your call. I've had a cancellation, so I now have some availability next Wednesday from 3pm to 4pm. Please let me know if that time slot works. I look forward to speaking with you!"

Joyce Butternut( MD, PsyD, PhD) hung up the call, which had gone straight to voicemail, and tapped thoughtfully at the calendar on her tablet. 

Her Alola-variant Abra floated placidly in a corner of the office. After a while it began levitating pencils out of her desk jar and sorting them by color - a reliable sign of boredom.

"I'll be just another five minutes! I'm arranging next week's appointments and then we can go to the park." she told it, because accurately communicating time limits and boundaries was important for both children and Pokemon.

Abra flicked an ear at her. She smiled.

Well, if anything, the citywide Incident with the Pokemon Parade had been good for business. Being forcibly merged with one's partner Pokemon had triggered a wave of introspection across all sectors of both the human and Pokemon populations. And often no small degree of trauma. 

She and her colleagues were booked up for months! And still, among the sudden influx of new patient calls, Tim Goodman's voicemail had stood out. 

A lot of people were defensive when first seeking counseling. Many were ashamed, laboring under false expectations that they should have just 'dealt with' their substantial mental health crises by themselves. In contrast, it seemed as though the young Mr. Goodman had a refreshingly candid perspective on both his quarter life crisis as well as his issues with his father, and, unlike many twenty-something boys, was fairly comfortable speaking about his feelings. 

At length.

The voicemail in question, had gone a little something like this:

“::beeep::”

"So um... Dr. Butternut? Or should it be Professor Butternut? Sorry. I've... Um.. never done this. As in cold-called a shrink before. I mean, I used to cold-call people a lot for my job. I used to sell insurance in-. Well it doesn’t matter. It’s a small town, you’ve probably never heard of it. But I don't! Um.. anymore. Because I quit my job. Today, actually. I emailed my boss this morning. Which sounds crazy already, right? I've been doing it for years I was getting good performance reviews and everything. But two days ago I was clinging to the side of this skyscraper and the whole time I was thinking...well I was mostly thinking 'Please let Pikachu be OK!' but also 'Wow, I don't like my job all that much! Even though I'm good at it!' 

Isn't that kind of messed up? I wasn't that good of a Pokemon trainer. Like, I barely made it into the Ultra league before I quit. But I loved doing it. And did I mention I was hanging from a 24th story window? This was, like, two days ago. The hospital said they got all the glass out of my arm but sometimes, I get kind of worried it's still there. It’s probably the chronic anxiety. I should probably go on Zoloft again. Do you do prescriptions?

Um, doc. I gotta be honest here: I have had a _rough_ week. 

So last Tuesday I critical whiffed a catch on a Cubone. A pity catch. My old buddy Jack probably thinks I’m pathetic. Actually, scratch that. For sure. He for sure thinks I’m pathetic. Still kind of glad he didn’t just leave me to wallow in my uhhh,,, funk? Let’s call it a funk. Maybe a minor depressive episode. And then the RCPD called me up and said: 'so hey, there's been an accident, and we’re pretty sure your dad died.' And I felt some kind of way. 

Totally not the right way. Probably. I mean. I felt gut punched. But not sad exactly. My dad and I haven't really gotten along for years. Not since my mom died. She died when I was 11 and then dad moved away to Ryme city and I just got kind of used to the worst case scenario. So when they called me and said he'd been in a car crash I was kind of like 'yeah, OK. this might as well happen.' Like that meme where there’s a Growlithe and the room is on fire. 

So I take bereavement leave. And I get on a train. And this Police Chief guy and his Snubbul are The Worst at grief counseling. They should seriously just… go take a seminar. Pretty much The Worst. Dude barely looks me in the eye, starts going on what a legend my dad was, in the job that he, you know, _totally abandoned me_ for. So I'm not feeling too great and I bounce. 

And I go to his apartment, which um - total sad bachelor-ville. Complete with max sketchy chick in the lobby and crappy noir movies on Netflix. And I find out there’s like, this _shrine_ room. To 11 year old me. League posters, buncha my old trophies. Limited edition IKEA Pikachu twin bed. Kinda lost it. I was just so mad at him for so long. And he did all that, instead of, you know, _actually talking to me ever_.

So I’ve got ten years of unprocessed dad feelings and a face full of Ugly Cry (™) and then I end up menacing a talking Pikachu with a stapler. Yeah. A talking Pikachu. I kid you not, doc. I thought it was a full on mental breakdown. But it was an actual talking Pikachu. 

And then me, and this Pikachu, who I assumed was my dad’s old Pokemon partner, we go on this 100% crazy life-changing adventure. Like full-on, indie movie. Montages set to Arcade Fire tracks and everything: 

I try to WWF wrestle a Charizard - it does _not_ go well. A Gyrados almost drowns me in an illegal fighting ring. I break into a shady research lab.

I get to face down Mewtwo, who is _terrifying,_ by the way. Super terrifying. 0/10. Do not recommend. We need to leave them alone forever and hope they don’t come back and zap us all on principle. 

And through the whole thing I realize: I love that Pikachu. I love that brave-as-hell, stupid, snarky little jackass. I would die for him. I wanna be a trainer again. Like, for real, this time. 

So I’m clinging to the side of a building and my kicks are slipping and Mr. Clifford’s Ditto is trying to kill me there’s glass all in my arm and I’m praying that if we just get out of this alive I’m gonna turn the whole car around. I’m gonna get some help, and I’m gonna make changes, and I’m gonna deal with my dad’s death and maybe take over his lease. I could just see my whole life ahead of me: me and that fuzzy lil’ jerk against the world. 

I’d never… I’d never clicked like that with anyone. It’s been a long time, you know? Since I opened up. Since I made a new friend. It’s been a really long time…

And then it’s over and we’re alive and Mewtwo floats down at us...

And then it turns out that my Pikachu was my dad. 

My totally-actually-not-dead dad. My new best friend. Was my dad. Who I love… but also kind of still hate.

So I guess what I’m saying is. I know you’re probably booked up. But if somebody cancels please, please, _please_ give me a call. I could really use your help.“

\----

A day later Dr. Butternut got another rather distinctive voicemail. 

"Hey Doc~~! Detective Sergeant Harry Goodman here~ So stop me if this is too much for you and you gotta kick me up the chain to some... Super Duper Shrink? Whoever you got for the real bad cases? But...yeah... So I was stuck in my Pikachu for two weeks and it. Ummmm. Kiiiiinda fucked me up? 

Like, worse than usual? As in it made me realize that I have So Many Issues. And I haven't been dealing with it. At all? Maybe not since my wife died? Maybe before that, even? And I'm like. A wreck. And it's really hard. 

Because I used to be a wreck but at least I was cute. I had the cutest little paws! You would not _be-lieve._ Aaaanyway. So I'm trying to get my life back on track. But I'm a 49 year old cop with um, a whole box of commendations, very very few human friends, and this blinding urge to mainline 3 cups of coffee and then scratch my ears with my tail. Except I don't have a tail. Anymore. And my human ears aren't long enough.

Is that body dysmorphia? It _sounds_ like body dysmorphia. I did some googling.

Aaaanyway. Yesterday I tried to jump-start the toaster by making electricity out of my cheeks. Can't do _that_ anymore either. Though I could! 3 days ago! I made those gas-filled parade balloons pop like pack of fire-pinatas! ::wistful sigh:: Damn, that was a rush! Why don't people have power moves again? Then again, my best move would be 'Wall' cause I push people away! Get it?! 

Humor is my favorite coping mechanism. Okay. Second favorite. Juuuuust behind the whole workoholic thing.

Which brings us to: my son. Let's get uncomfortably real: my estranged son. Estranged due to me being kind of a shit dad. So we almost died last week. A buncha times! And now he's decided he wants to live with me. Which is great! Theoretically! 

But it’s awkward. Super awkward. Actually it’s so awkward I could die.

Because he (and this is so weird to admit) He can’t look me in the eye. He keeps looking for me like, two feet off the floor. Like I'm still a Pikachu.

And I kinda wish I was. Still. A Pikachu.

That’s... not good, right? 

Please call me back."

\---

EXCERPT FROM PATIENT TRANSCRIPT: Tim Goodman, Session #2:

"Hello Tim!"

"Hey, Doctor Butternut..."

"How are you doing this week?"

"Um... It's.. Not bad? I guess? I went on a date with this girl - Lucy, I told you about her last time. We went to a vintage shop and had bubble tea. A snorlax drooled on me. It was nice!"

"That's wonderful! Now did you want to pick up where we left off?" 

The patient gave her a shy nod.

"So, tell me: why do you feel you related best to your estranged father when he was two feet tall and, in your own words - 'so freaking cute I could die'?"

\---

EXCERPT FROM PATIENT TRANSCRIPT: Harry Goodman, Session #1:

...

"So I kiiiinda wanna go back to Mewtwo and say: listen, my man, my lady, xir: Super appreciate. You really did me a solid back there. Again, sorry about my entire species being fuckwads and keeping you in a lab! But! Could you um, _please,_ put me back?

So I can connect with my son again?"

Detective Goodman gave her a teary blink from behind his horn rimmed glasses and reached for a tissue.

"This is super bad, isn't it. _Super bad_."

Doctor Butternut maintained a carefully neutral expression and looked down at her notes. 

This was going to be a difficult case. 

~

**Author's Note:**

> So the 'hey, the Pikachu was actually his dad all along!' premise initially seems like a clever plot twist for a kid's movie... But if you look at the thing through a more realistic lens it's a little umm #yikes? I just thought that in the wake of the movie: Tim, Harry, and, very possibly, the Pikachu, are all gonna need therapy.
> 
> A lot of therapy.


End file.
